Gehenna
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: Aliyah post-ep in two parts, Ziva-centric, dealing with torture of both the physical and self-inflicted kind.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Just imagine me muttering angrily in a corner about the lack of owning and all.

Spoilers: _Aliyah_.

Summary: Ziva both suffers and enjoys hallucinations of her colleagues while imprisoned. Features dramatic!delirium rather than realistic medical delirium…or Cirque _Delirium_, either or both of which may be entertaining depending on what kind of person you are – although, as neither are featured, um, you could go listen to the soundtrack from _LOVE_? I don't know. Come back and see me when they take the Sam Adams blackberry beer off the shelves.

* * *

"Three days. I would be impressed if I had not bet twenty dinars that you would break in under two."

Ziva tried to smile, but was unable to produce an expression beyond a grimace. She slurred around her thick and swollen tongue, "Have I wounded your pride?"

The backhand she received was halfhearted, especially coming from the man who had been her sole meaningful human contact since the forcible separation from her Moussad colleagues a week previously. He gave her another lazy slap. "Perhaps I should have let those Somali pirates have their way with you. Imagine, delivering you unspoiled because they believed I had other intentions for you." His laugh was mirthless. "Of course, you would have enjoyed that, wouldn't you? Moussad whore."

So predictable – insults, pain, questions, pain, same questions, pain… She sighed as he continued to circle her, adjusting and readjusting his keffiyeh. She had not yet decided if he was trying to draw her attention to it to emphasize his affiliations or if he was unused to wearing it; it was possible it was just a nervous tic. Following him with her good eye, she focused on the scarf each time he passed through her field of vision. It had disappeared for the fifth time when she decided to brace herself.

The blow didn't land on her head, as she had expected, but on her left hand. She understood just how stupid it had been to ball her fists just in time to spread her right hand. The pain was still intense, but there was no crushing sensation.

The man dangled his club in front of her face. Why had she been staring at his damn scarf and not _that_? "So, Officer David, are you ready to begin describing NCIS's security protocols?" She gritted her teeth as he moved to her left. "N…C…I…S." Each pause was punctuated by a blow to her throbbing left hand.

She was unsure how much time had passed when he cut the ropes binding her to the chair and she crumpled to the floor. Using the toe of his boot, he turned her head so she could see him as he leaned down. "You know, I am wondering if it is this room that makes you so uncommunicative." He rapped on the door and had a quiet exchange with the man who opened it, returning with him. "We have some other accommodations that may be more to your liking. Get up."

When she was unable to push herself up with her hands, the second man roughly grabbed her upper arm, yanking her to her feet and dragging her after him. Her interrogator followed, smoking nonchalantly. "I suppose we should not have left you tied to that chair since you arrived. Your stink is becoming torture for _me_." He commanded his underling to halt in front of a door. "Hold her here a moment. If you have to shoot her, just make sure she doesn't bleed out."

She knew better than to move or to speak to the man who slammed her face first against the wall. Even if she managed to escape from the forearm pressing into the back of her neck, there was no way she could fight or handle a weapon in her present state. A quick self-assessment told her she had only minimal dexterity in her right hand and months of physical therapy to look forward to in her left. Her interrogator must have decided that this particular torment should coincide with moving her; this was the first time her hands had been touched. His voice suddenly commanded, "Move."

The man restraining her stepped away, but before she could turn she was doused with a bucket of what she could only hope was water. "Turn." A second bucketful soaked her from the chest down when she complied. "We will see if that helps your stench."

The two rats in the corner of her new five by seven cell didn't move when she was shoved through the door. Struggling into a sitting position against one of the walls, she tried to bring the rapidly-drying fabric of her shirt to her lips. The small amount of moisture she sucked from the fabric was almost worse than having nothing at all.

"Ziva!"

She inhaled sharply as the hug squeezed sore spots she hadn't been aware of. "Abby?"

"Oh, it's so good to see you!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I miss you." Abby settled onto the dirt floor beside her, pulling her skirt down and sipping a Caf-Pow. Ziva reached for the large cup in spite of the fact that she knew she would not be able to hold it, but Abby pulled it back. "Oh, no. The last thing you need right now is caffeine."

"Please, I just need _something_…"

"Ziva, what kind of friend would I be if I gave you Caf-Pow when you're already dehydrated?" She took another long sip. "Not a very good one. Speaking of people who aren't acting like very good friends – way to leave a forwarding address or phone number or email or…or whatever! How am I supposed to tell you about my new tat and Palmer's new glasses or Tony's…"

"Stop."

Abby pouted for a second before continuing, "Gibbs let me keep everything from your desk. I thought I was going to have to fight for stuff, but no one even tried to…well, I did get to the knives first, so they were probably just intimidated. Anyway, it's all in a box in my lab, so you can have it when you come back!"

"I am not coming," she glanced around and corrected, "going back."

"But you have to! You never even said goodbye, so that means you weren't planning to leave."

"Plans change."

"You wouldn't even let me hug you before you left for Israel. You told me some other time." The Caf-Pow had disappeared and Abby's eyes shone with tears. "Those were your exact words – 'Some other time, Abby.' Was that a lie? Should I just toss the box from your desk in the dumpster?"

Ziva blinked, apparently giving Abby time to disappear. Her voice carried through the seam under the door. "Don't worry. I'm not really gonna throw out your stuff. I'm hugging you in my mind!"

Her clothes were now completely dry and rat blood turned out to be unpleasantly salty.

* * *

The noise was persistent and annoying, demanding her full concentration. She shouted to no one in particular, "Break another one of my fingers if you want to, but please turn that fucking alarm off!"

"There is no alarm."

"Then what is that noise?"

"Tinnitus, my dear." Ducky became impossible to ignore as he lifted her chin. "Hopefully, it's nothing more serious than a mild concussion, though I can't judge if your pupils are equal because of the swelling on your left side." As he gently palpated her face, he continued, "Some very notable individuals throughout history have been affected by tinnitus – the usual suspects are those exposed to loud noises, musicians, soldiers and the like, but, quite interestingly, Vincent van Gogh was a notable sufferer. There isn't much evidence, however, to indicate that inexplicable ringing lay at the root cause of his desire to perform his own otologic amputation. I suppose some things are best accepted at face-value." She winced as he unexpectedly exerted more pressure just in back of her temple. "Hm. Well, that's not good."

"Do it again."

"You can't be asking me to…"

"Please."

He scrutinized her carefully before he complied, causing intense pain until he stopped pushing. "Better?"

"They turned the alarm off."

"In that case, perhaps we can have a brief chat." He looked around her cell. "I suppose a stool would be asking for a bit much. Well, at least they brought you a toilet with your last meal."

"They brought a metal bucket and plate of…" She glanced at the dish that had formerly contained unidentifiable food, which she had consumed to the last speck.

"I believe I would classify it as gruel, in the Dickensian sense – that is, not necessarily gruel itself, but any of a number of non-nutritive concoctions meant to make the stomach feel as if is doing something more than taking up space in your abdominal cavity." He finally sank to the floor with a weary groan. "As I've gotten older, I have truly come to appreciate ergonomically designed desk chairs…"

"Ducky…"

"What they really should have brought you was some water. I'm sweating dreadfully in this heat, but your skin is quite dry."

She rubbed the back of her right wrist against her forehead. "It is only dry…oh." She realized that she should have expected the only dampness to be blood. As long as Ducky was here, he could look have a look at her hands and tell her if…

He interrupted her thoughts, "It was unkind of you to put Jethro on the spot like you did."

"Gibbs knew what was happening. I told him what I could in front of…"

"Your father, yes. And he understood straight away, like the excellent investigator he is. And, what's more, he accepted it. He got on the plane without even a second glance."

"I know that tone. You are judging me, Ducky."

"Never. But surely, my dear, you understand that this is all happening in your mind. If this is about your unresolved issues, you could just as easily speak to Gibbs or Tony."

"I have already spoken to Gibbs, in Tel Aviv. There is nothing more to say."

"Ah, so that just leaves…"

"I do not want to see him."

"Would it really be so difficult to…?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well." Ducky was silent for a few moments, giving Ziva the opportunity to listen to a very quiet, continuous high-pitched whine. "You thought he would argue with you."

"I don't want to see him! Leave it alone!"

"No, no. Gibbs. You didn't expect him to give in so easily. When has Leroy Jethro Gibbs ever given up something so important so easily?"

She turned away. "When it wasn't really that important."

Ducky rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps you shouldn't have decided the outcome before you made the request."

"You say that as if I had a choice in the matter." She curled up in a ball, not watching to see if Ducky stayed. The whine made it difficult to fall asleep.

* * *

"My men tell me that you have been talking to yourself."

Ziva ignored her interrogator, who was again circling her as he fingered his keffiyeh, instead focusing on a man standing in the deep shadows of the far corner. This was the first time anyone else had been present while she was being questioned. That had to mean that something different was coming. It was still the same room, same chair, same restraints. Perhaps her interrogator's superiors had grown impatient with his lack of results and sent a professional to get the job done. The man hadn't come cheap, judging by his shoes and slacks, anyway.

"…but I suppose insanity is one of the many bad traits that runs in your people's filthy blood." There was the insult. She wondered where the first blow would land – and if the man in the corner would step in to demonstrate a more effective technique. "You spoke of Gibbs. An NCIS agent, I believe."

She bit her tongue; it was hard not to when it felt like it had doubled in size.

"You worked with Gibbs. You were on his team. You had access to high-level classified information." He cracked his knuckles. "Shall we talk about the NCIS computer system today?"

She endured a long session during which her interrogator seemed intent on doing the same unsuccessful things he had done over the past days. The observer never said a word, never even suggested that it might be beneficial for the interrogator to put out one of his frequent cigarettes on her skin instead of grinding them into the floor. Why was the other man even there? To make her uncomfortable? She had to admit that it was working, though not in such a way as to make her actually answer any questions. Was he watching to get a feel for her so he could take over next time? Why didn't he step in, say something? By the time her interrogator stepped back to let one of his guards into the room, she could no longer contain herself. "Why is he here?"

"To take you back to your cell."

"Not him." She turned her attention pointedly from the guard to the corner. "_Him_." The only answer she received was an odd look from her interrogator. When he loosened the ropes securing her to the chair, she swung her arm up, causing blinding pain in her hand, but surprising him enough that she was able to take a few steps toward the corner before anyone reacted. "Who are you?" She strained against the grasp of her captors. "Why are you here?"

"Get her out of here, back to her cell!" her interrogator shouted, hitting her repeatedly in the face as she was dragged away. No one paid any attention to the silent man in the corner as the door was slammed and locked.

* * *

"You are holding up well. Even better than I could think of asking you to."

Ziva doubted that she could open her eyes, even if she wanted to look at her father. She attempted to spit out a mouthful of ropy red saliva before replying, "They aren't trying very hard."

"This is true. They give you time to sleep, food. They never question you for more than two hours at any given time…"

"Yes. You may as well have sent me to a spa."

He ignored her sarcasm. "Either they do not know what they are doing, or they want something else. Why have they asked so many questions about NCIS?"

"You mean why do they care more about getting information about NCIS than about Moussad."

She could hear him pacing back and forth in her small cell. "They are softening you up, making you think they will not ask the harder questions or use more ruthless measures."

"Were you watching?"

"What?"

"Someone was watching last time."

"I could never stand by and watch while someone did this to you." He paused and touched her face as he went past. "I would have stopped them."

"What if I told you not to interfere?"

"I would not listen."

"What if I told you enough times? Would you stand back and watch then?"

"Try to focus on what is important. Think. They send men to find you. They take you to the camp we have been searching for. They do not even attempt to break you during incompetent interrogations. Why?"

"Maybe they're punishing me."

"Don't be stupid, Ziva. These things are never personal." She could see his dismissive hand-wave inside her swollen eyelids. "There is something you are missing. You are not dead and you are not supplying them with anything useful."

"Am I bait?"

"Doubtful, unless these men are idiots."

"Because NCIS doesn't know I'm here and Moussad wouldn't extract me."

"You make it sound as if they would act on your behalf – even after being told not to…interfere, did you say?"

She discovered that it was pitch black in her cell even when she managed to open her eyes. "Why _am_ I here?"

Her father did not even attempt to answer.

* * *

The silent observer was shadowed in the corner again the next time she was brought to the interrogation room, but she didn't acknowledge his presence. The questions were the same, the injuries were similar and in the end, no one got any answers. Still.

The only conspicuous change was the sudden presence of a furious, muscular American in a cell across from her. He had a bad habit of shouting every time a guard walked down the hall. "Oh, you fuckwads, you've really stepped in a massive heap of shit! We never leave a man behind! You bastards have no idea what the fuck you've done or you'd be shitting yourselves!"

Ziva didn't talk to him, even after he promised that his fellow SEALs would rescue her as well when they came to get him. She found it offensive that he felt compelled to apologize for his language, as he hadn't known there was a lady present until he'd seen her dragged out of her cell the morning after his arrival.

* * *

"Jen, am I going crazy?"

She was wearing the clothes she'd had on in the diner the last time Ziva had seen her, _sans_ blood and bullet holes. "So when you're talking to people who aren't there, everything is fine? It's only when you start talking to dead people who aren't there that you start to think you're nuts?" She sat on the ground with her back against the door. "You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"I can only imagine how I look after a year in the ground."

"A year and three months."

"Does it matter?"

"Probably not to you."

Jen tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I was dying."

"And you preferred to take some of them with you."

"Better a bullet than a brain tumor."

"Yes. Ducky told me." Ziva wondered why a figment of her imagination was looking at her suspiciously when Jen couldn't have told her anything she didn't actually know herself. "Don't worry. It was not until…after. I believe he was trying to make me feel better."

"Did it work?"

"I was still angry enough at you at that point to have an inappropriate response. You should have told me what was going on."

"Told both of you, you mean. I left both you and Tony out of the loop."

"I don't want to talk about Tony."

Jen pointed to a spot on her abdomen where a bloody rosette was forming. "He took it harder than you did."

"Why is that a shock? He always blames himself for everything. It's pathological with him."

She tilted her head. "He didn't seem to blame himself for Michael's death."

"Jen…" Ziva didn't have the energy to get into a staring contest, though she had to admit it was nice to have a conversation with an old friend – it had been a long time since she'd thought about the years leading up to her joining NCIS. "We made good partners. We always got a lot done."

"Never enough."

"You were a terrible boss, though." Ziva shrugged off Jen's open-mouthed reaction. "Mostly during and after the La Grenouille case, but…stop looking at me like that."

"It's hard to have friends when you're in charge." Another bloodstain was starting to discolor her shirt. "And I didn't want anyone too close at the end."

They sat in silence for awhile until Ziva asked, "How is Tali?"

"How should I know?"

Ziva sighed.

"Hey, I'm not a ghost. You could talk to her if you liked."

She shook her head. "She would not want to see me like this."

"You could always talk to the SEAL."

"And say what?"

* * *

Ziva lay on the ground, listening.

"Tibbs drew his weapon as he crept toward the corner of the red brick building, pressing his body against the masonry as he stole ever closer to the voices of his targets. It was foolish of the two guilty lieutenants to be meeting in public, but Tibbs said a prayer of thanks every day for the stupidity of criminals. They all fouled up at some point. He just had to be there to catch them red-handed. And he usually did.

"Signaling to McGregor, who was crouching behind a parked car across the street, Tibbs stepped out onto the sidewalk. 'NCIS! Lt. Wood, Lt. Gaffney, you are under arrest for the murder of…'

"Wood took off running in the opposite direction from which McGregor was approaching, but Tibbs didn't hesitate to slap the cuffs on Gaffney. In the moment Wood chose to look back to see if he was being followed, Lisa dropped eight feet from the tree branch where she had been positioned and slammed the unfortunate lieutenant to the…"

Ziva interrupted, "Oh, McGee! You put me in a tree!"

He grinned without looking up from the open copy of _Red Sky at Morning: The Continuing Adventures of LJ Tibbs, Volume III _spread across his knees. "Well, you know me. Any similarity to real people is purely coincidental, unless you happen to know them personally."

"What happens next?"

"Oh, the usual. Bad guys go to jail, Tommy makes smartass remarks, Tibbs headslaps people…"

"This is only the first chapter. What does the arrest of the lieutenants lead to?"

His eyes remained fixed on the page. "Y'know, it's nice you think my writing is going so well that I'm on volume three when the second book hasn't even been published yet."

"Tim, look at me."

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I just…I'm gonna visit you every day in the hospital, though. I promise."

"I know you would." She closed her eyes again. "Will you keep reading for a while?"

* * *

The room was different this time. In lieu of tying her to a chair, her interrogator chained her arms above her head at a height where her pointed toes just reached the floor. He leaned a length of lead pipe against the wall. The pain in her wrists, the ringing in her ears and the difficulty breathing were not enough to distract her from the man in the corner. When her interrogator left, she turned to the observer. "Was this your idea? Is this what you have been planning?"

The unexpected answer was a whisper, "I didn't plan this. It's my punishment, too."

"Can you stop it?"

"Who are you talking to, Officer David?" Her interrogator set up a camcorder on a tripod just out of the range in which she could have kicked it down, had she had the strength to do so. "If you have chosen now to beg for mercy, I'm afraid you waited too long."

"What is going on?"

"The Moussad Director's daughter has proven to be a less valuable commodity than we had hoped, neither to your father nor Director Vance. Perhaps if we had actually made the effort to break you…but it is no matter. As there was no information we could obtain from you that we could not get by other means and no one is willing to make an acceptable trade for you, you have become expendable." He pressed a button on the camcorder and a red light came on beside the lens. "A decision has been made. For your crimes, you shall die."

"What are my…?" She was cut off by her own cry as her interrogator swung the pipe, making contact with her right flank. She wanted to scream, but was only able to produce pathetic whimpers as he struck her again and again, circling her and taking the time to adjust his keffiyeh between blows.

Suddenly, gunfire and cries that were not her own interrupted the proceedings. She coughed forcefully as the lead pipe clattered to the floor and her interrogator ran out, not locking the door behind him. If there were only some way she could…

Breathing became difficult for reasons not related to injury when the man in the corner abruptly stepped out of the shadows. She gasped, "I said…I did not want to see you."

"Don't you think it's a little late to grind an axe?"

"Go 'way, Tony."

"I never wanted this." His voice was soft, broken. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

"You never could have."

"If you had listened to me…"

"Not what I mean." She coughed again, spraying blood on his perfectly shined shoes. "My decisions, my life…"

"I stepped back, like you wanted me to. Now look what happened. You should have trusted me. You should have come home."

"So I could hate you…up close?"

He grinned. "You don't hate me."

"No. It is a lot harder…to hate you…where I am now."

"Even though I did this to you?" His fingertips lightly caressed her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize. This is…not your fault." She heard the gunfire getting closer. "You should forget, Tony. Go back to rescuing victims. You do it well. They need you."

"You need me more."

"It doesn't matter anymore," she whispered.

* * *

Petty Officer Second Class Shane Duncan sprang to his feet the moment he heard the sweet report of M16s echoing through the hallway. "Hey! Heeeeey! Give it to these fuckwads, boys!" Continuing to shout and bang his fist against the door of his small cell, he kept up a constant noise until two familiar forms appeared in his field of vision. "I knew I could count on you sons of bitches!"

As Johnson forced the door, Gabriel spoke into his radio, "We got Dunk. He seems okay. You okay, man?"

"Fine, man." Clapping his friends on the shoulders as he stepped into the hall, he glanced into the cell opposite to confirm that the girl wasn't there. "We securing the whole facility?"

"Oh, yeah. We'll get you a weapon if you're up for some fun."

"Whatever. First we gotta find the girl." He started up the hallway in the direction he'd seen her dragged the last time.

Johnson grabbed his arm, "We can find girls after we get back to base, but we're working now. There's no shame in sitting this one out. Let's just get you to a corpsman on the chopper."

"No, man, you don't understand. They've got another prisoner, a girl." Duncan picked up his pace as he passed dead terrorists on the floor.

Rounding a corner, he heard Lt. West shouting, "Get her down!"

Duncan ran into the bare room just as the Lieutenant and Sullivan were gently laying the girl on the floor. "Is she okay?" The question seemed ludicrous as he knelt beside her. "Hey, didn't I tell you the cavalry was coming? Hang in there."

He lowered his ear as she met his eyes and moved her lips. Lt. West pulled him aside as two men carried her out on a stretcher a few minutes later. "Who is she?"

"I don't know, sir. She was already messed up when I got here. Wouldn't talk to me, just talked to herself a lot, sounded like she was having conversations with people who weren't there."

"Did she say something to you just now?"

"I think so."

"Dunk, either she did or she didn't."

"I'm not sure, but it sounded like 'NCIS.'"

West switched off a tripod-mounted camcorder. "I guess we know who to send this to, then."


	2. Chapter 2

"Is that noise coming from your end?"

Vance looked over his shoulder. "Unfortunately. It sounds like Gibbs doesn't like being locked out of MTAC."

"He did not strike me as a man who makes compromises." On-screen, Eli David leaned back in his chair. "Should I be expecting him back in my country soon?"

"I'm not signing off on his vacation time, not that it'll stop him. Take care, Eli."

"Shalom, my friend."

Vance ended the call and cued up the digitized video footage he had been sent. With a sigh, he released the lockdown of MTAC. DiNozzo was the first to burst through the door, in a manner that suggested he had been trying to employ his shoulder as a battering ram, followed by Gibbs and McGee. "Insurance isn't going to cover you for a shoulder dislocated breaking down an agency door, Agent DiNozzo. You should really be more careful, seeing as you're already short one arm. Tell me, which technician do I have to remind that loose lips sink ships?"

"Good thing we're not here to talk naval operations, Director." Gibbs stepped in front of DiNozzo, deliberately taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Right. Maybe part of Danielle's punishment will be to make a sign for the door reminding everyone that beverages are no longer allowed in MTAC."

"Um, it was actually Susan who…"

"Thank you, McGee."

Vance was about to order Gibbs not to headslap McGee when he quietly asked, "Where is she, Leon?"

He frowned at the coffee cup Gibbs placed in one of the built-in cup holders – the rule about beverages was going to be easier to enforce once he got those damn things removed – and said, "The SEALs took her from Somalia to a field hospital along with their casualties and they sent her on to Landstuhl. Once she's stable, she'll go to Tel Aviv."

"How bad?"

"I don't have a medical report, but judging by this," he pressed a button to begin the video, "bad."

Vance sat down in the second row of seats, allowing Gibbs, McGee and DiNozzo to partially block his view as they stood in front of the screen, transfixed. All three jumped back at the exact moment Vance recalled having had the same reaction when he had watched it. David's subsequent rambling would probably not be as disturbing if it didn't have to be viewed through a spatter of blood droplets slowly trickling down the camera lens. He made his way to the console and stopped the video just as Lt. West caught David when another SEAL untangled her wrists from the chains above her head.

Vance didn't wait to find out what the agents' reactions would be, although it was hard not to notice that McGee's eyes were squeezed shut. He made his way to his office quickly, wanting to avoid the inevitable occurring in a public space. Gibbs entered a few moments later, but did not start shouting, instead making his way to the small bar. He swallowed one drink and poured himself a second before turning. "Wouldn't have thought you'd stick your neck out for her."

"I didn't."

"Like I said…" Gibbs pulled out a chair at the conference table but didn't sit. "Why were the SEALs there?"

"The cell managed to grab one of theirs during a skirmish northeast of Mogadishu a couple days ago. They found David by accident when they went to get their man back. She got lucky."

"Yup." Gibbs nodded slowly. "Who's the interrogator?"

"Kamil ibn Isma'il." The man was dead; it wasn't much of a disclosure to share his name.

"He been on our radar?"

Gibbs' self-possession was starting to make Vance uncomfortable, but there was no reason he couldn't return the bewildering civility. "Five days ago he contacted us with a trade offer – simple exchange, one of our prisoners for his. Apparently he has two younger brothers who share his political views." He picked up a file from his desk and placed a photo on the table. "The Marines captured him during a raid on a suspected terrorist hideout. You know we don't make those kinds of trades."

"What about the other?"

"Moussad picked up him up after a botched suicide bombing."

"Kamil was trying to get a two-for-one?"

"I think he was just hedging his bets, grabbing one hostage he could use on two potential objectives. Obviously, Moussad refused to trade either."

"Obviously."

"Is there anything you'd like to say, Agent Gibbs?"

"Not to you, Leon." Gibbs finished his drink and set the glass on the table. "Not to you."

Still somewhat taken aback by his composure, Vance called through the closing door, "Try not to piss off anyone in Germany."

* * *

McGee tried to follow Gibbs out of MTAC, but his sleeve caught on something. "Tony, let go of me."

"I need you for a second, Probie."

"For what?"

"I need a copy of this."

McGee made the mistake of looking up to confirm that Tony was pointing at the screen. "Why?"

"Can you just do this for me?"

"What, are you planning to put it on your iPod? Maybe email it to your friends?" He finally pulled his arm free from Tony's grasp and turned his whole body to face the back wall, quickly wiping his eyes on the pretense of fixing his hair. "What's wrong with you?" The room was very quiet for a minute or more. McGee didn't leave, remaining poised to deflect whatever insult or accusation was flung at him.

He was at the point of turning to face Tony when Ziva spoke, "Go 'way, Tony."

"Stop it," he begged.

"She's not talking to _you_."

McGee tried to block out her quavering voice, but it flowed from the speakers all around him. "You never could have."

"Turn it off, Tony."

"I didn't hear your name on that tape."

"Even if…" McGee decided he could think about why Ziva hadn't imagined a conversation with him later – not that he would have to think too hard. He risked turning around and found that the image on the screen had been replaced by MTAC's usual test-pattern. Tony stared at him expectantly, without blinking. "She wasn't really talking to you, you know."

"Yes she was. She thought she was. I have to figure out what I said to her."

"You didn't say anything. You weren't there and you couldn't have…"

"Will you just stop it, McGee? I need to know what she thinks I said!"

"But it doesn't…"

Tony hit a button, bringing the video back up on the screen. When had he become so familiar with the controls in MTAC? McGee focused on that question, keeping his attention on the console until Tony grabbed his head and forcibly turned it. "You see that, McGee? Do you _see_ that?"

He wanted to close his eyes again, to deny that he could see it, but he couldn't look away. He felt sick. "You can't want to watch this again."

Tony continued to hold his head. "It's not about what I want. What's happening to her is my fault. I did that. And if I'm gonna figure out how to fix things, I need to know everything I can about what she thinks of me because of it. Just do something so I can…so I can listen to her. I have to fill in the blanks."

McGee swallowed hard, beginning to understand that Tony was not displaying some macabre fetish. "I could just copy the audio, if that's what you want."

"Really?" Tony released his head and moved toward the screen, reaching toward it with his good arm. "Maybe…yeah. I don't know how many times I could watch this." His hand created shadows around Ziva's waist on the projection. "Just the part where she's talking to me…"

"I can do that." McGee sat down at the console, glad to finally have a concrete task. He just needed to make a ninety-second or so audio recording and… "This is going to be a pain up here. Let me send it to the lab and I'll…" His head snapped forward with the impact of a headslap. "I said I'd do it! What was that for?"

Gibbs was suddenly pulling him out of his seat by his collar. "Do _not_ let Abby see this!"

"Boss, I just…"

"We didn't hear you come back in," Tony finished for him.

"Hurry up and finish up in here. Wheels go up in just under an hour."

"Am I…"

"I don't know, McGee, are you?"

"I…I'd like to. Would Ziva care if I…?" He accepted headslaps from both Gibbs and Tony with silent self-reproach. "Right."

"Meet us downstairs," Gibbs ordered.

As McGee quickly recorded the audio component of the video to a separate file and sent it to his computer in the bullpen, he found he was by himself in MTAC, surrounded by Ziva at the most vulnerable he had ever seen her. It was the first time he had ever been scared to be alone with her.

* * *

"I said…I did not want to see you."

_But here I am._

"Go 'way, Tony."

_You think I would just leave you here?_

"You never could have."

_You don't think I could save you?_

"Not what I mean." She paused as she coughed. "My decisions, my life…"

_We're friends. Partners. I was worried about you. Is it so wrong that I want to be involved with your life?_

"So I could hate you…up close?"

_Do you really hate me?_

"No. It is a lot harder…to hate you…where I am now."

_I should be there. I should be letting you hate me as I rip that guy's face off. I should have had your six. _

"Do not apologize. This is…not your fault. You should forget, Tony. Go back to rescuing victims. You do it well. They need you."

_Why should they be more important to me than you?_

"It doesn't matter anymore."

* * *

Gibbs pursed his lips, watching Tony as he frowned, looked down and pressed the same button he'd pressed after frowning and looking down every two minutes since they'd climbed into the C-130. "I should have just dragged them both out of MTAC."

"What is he listening to?"

Gibbs glanced to his right at Ducky, who had been standing in the parking lot with a traveling bag when he, Tony and McGee had left NCIS after a brief confrontation with Abby. "Ziva was a little out of it on the tape they sent us."

"'They' being the SEALs or the terrorists?"

"Bad guys made it, good guys sent it. They needed an ID and I guess she asked them to call us."

"She couldn't just tell them who she is?"

"Like I said…" He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Ziva through a haze of blood droplets.

"Forgive me, Jethro. I believe you were going to tell me what, exactly, Tony is listening to with such grim intent."

He looked down at the floor of the cabin, counting the attachment sites along the edge of a panel. "She sounded like she was having a conversation with him. She was hallucinating or something."

"And he wants to understand his part. I see."

"You think that's healthy, Duck?"

"No less so than staring at the walls for ten hours. I happen to have some extra reading material, if you'd like something to…"

"Nope."

"Very well. You go back to torturing yourself in your way and leave Tony to his."

Gibbs stiffened at the casually flung but meticulously aimed barb. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ducky looked up, keeping his finger on a point in the photo he was studying; Gibbs wondered if all the reading material he'd brought contained such pathologically significant pictures. Following his gaze, Ducky said, "The human heart is an amazing organ. Or course, I could say that about viscera in general. I'm a particular fan of the liver…"

"You goin' somewhere with this?"

"Yes, well…the heart." He indicated something lumpy in the picture he had been examining. "I'm sure even you can tell that this particular feature does not belong."

"The yellowy thing?"

"It's bacterial vegetation that has built up on a mitral valve damaged by a previous bout of rheumatic fever. Would you like to venture a guess as to what precipitated this poor individual's demise?"

"It's a heart. Heart attack?"

"Cardiac failure after long-term infection, but I'm asking about the root cause. What began the chain of events that led to his left ventricle's inability to function properly?"

"Didn't realize there'd be a test."

"Do try to make an effort, Jethro."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "That fever thing you said?"

"Ah-ha. That was the cause of the valvular damage, yes, but the real question is, how did the bacteria come to be in the heart at all?"

"I don't know. He didn't wash his hands?"

"Though I could provide you with some very convincing data on that subject, let us focus on the topic at hand. This man had a tooth extracted."

Gibbs waited for a moment before prompting, "And?"

"And that was why this defect in his heart, which had been benign since childhood, proved to be his undoing."

"I don't get it."

"Well, it's really quite simple. The patient failed to take the antibiotics prescribed by his dentist, the tooth extraction then caused a bacteremia, which ultimately led to cardiac failure."

Gibbs wondered for a moment if the point was about cause and effect, but said, "If you're trying to make a point about the heart and feelings, Duck, it's goin' way over my head, here."

"Nonsense, Jethro. The heart is a glorified pump. If I wanted to lecture you about the limbic system, I'd have to dig all the way to the bottom of my bag."

"Then what is all this about?"

"It distracted you for five minutes from blaming yourself for what's happened to Ziva, did it not?"

Gibbs sighed. "I left her there. I abandoned her."

"I thought you said that she made the decision."

"She couldn't have known what would happen."

"Neither could you. You cannot possibly deconstruct all of the factors at play and determine fault."

"Would that guy have lived if he'd taken the antibiotics?"

"Possibly. His chances certainly would have been vastly improved…" Ducky suddenly straightened and pulled his book back into his own lap. "I believe I shall return to my reading if you are going to insist on being difficult."

Gibbs glanced across the cabin at Tony as he frowned, looked down and pressed his button again. The flight was going to last another five hours, at least. "What's that limbo system you mentioned, Duck?"

* * *

"I said…I did not want to see you."

_Do you want to see me now?_

"Go 'way, Tony."

_I won't disappear just because you tell me to._

"You never could have."

_I do have a habit of hanging around when I'm not wanted._

"Not what I mean." She coughed again. "My decisions, my life…"

_I can still be upset you screwed up your own life. You should have come back to DC. _

"So I could hate you…up close?"

_Better that than this._

"No. It is a lot harder…to hate you…where I am now."

_Sorry I made you hate me. I was just trying to help._

"Do not apologize. This is…not your fault. You should forget, Tony. Go back to rescuing victims. You do it well. They need you."

_What about you?_

"It doesn't matter anymore."

* * *

Shane Duncan was getting sick of arguing with the snippy nurse. "I'm not some psycho stalker or something. I just want to know where she went and if she's gonna be okay."

"And as I keep telling you, I cannot share that information with proper…"

She was interrupted by a man standing in the doorway, with a small group of men in suits behind him, "This room 314?"

"Can I help you, sir?"

He held up a badge and ID. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. They told us downstairs that we could find Officer Ziva David here."

Seeing his opening, Duncan said, "Not anymore, Agent Gibbs. Nurse Ratched here won't tell me where they took her."

A man with a sling on his arm standing behind Gibbs chuckled, but Gibbs eyed him carefully, prompting him to adjust his fatigues self-consciously. "You one of the SEALs from the op in Somalia?"

"Yes, sir. Petty Officer Shane Duncan."

"Don't call me sir." Gibbs gestured him into the hallway, where he was surrounded by the men in suits. "What's your interest in Ziva?"

"I…" Duncan stopped. He was still a little ashamed of the fact that he had escaped his internment unscathed while failing to protect someone he'd known only as 'the girl' for two days.

Gibbs rested a hand on his shoulder. "It's off the record."

These guys were NCIS and they were here for their…friend? He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "I was captured by a splinter group of Hamas terrorists and taken to their base. Ziva was already there. There was…there was nothing I could do to help her but promise that someone was coming." He swallowed, still feeling that his contributions were inadequate. "My Lieutenant let me fly up here with her. I just…I want to know that she's all right."

Gibbs looked at him searchingly for a few moments before releasing his shoulder after a final squeeze. He turned and called, "Nurse Ratched?"

Duncan joined the man with a sling in a laugh this time. The nurse just frowned. "It's Nurse Conway, Agent…Tibbs, was it?"

It was the older man in a bowtie who laughed with the man in the sling this time as Gibbs corrected her.

"I supposed I'm thinking of that terrible _Deep Six_ novel."

This drew further laughter from the two men, which Gibbs and a blushing fourth man ignored. Gibbs said, "Nurse Conway, sorry. Can you tell me when Officer David left for Tel Aviv?"

She glanced down at the chart in her hands, "She was transferred two hours ago."

"You couldn't have told me _that_?" Duncan demanded. He would have stayed to annoy her longer, but he noticed that Gibbs and his agents were already walking down the hall. He jogged to catch them. "Agent Gibbs!"

"Something we can do for you, Petty Officer?"

"Well…I was kind of hoping…if there's any way…I have to get back to my unit and…"

"Gimme your address. I'll pass it on to her."

He let out a breath. "I don't want to seem like…I'd just like to know that she's okay, si…Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nearly smiled. "Just write it down, Duncan."

The man in the bowtie handed him a notepad. "Thanks." As he jotted down his information, he said, "I talked to her on the flight up here, just to keep her company so she'd know someone was there with her. She wasn't too clear, but I definitely heard your name."

Gibbs nodded as he tucked the paper into his pocket. "What'd she say about me?"

"Oh, I just asked her if there was anyone she wanted me to tell…anything. She just kinda gave me a list of people's names." He fumbled in his breast pocket for a piece of paper and read from the notes he'd jotted down the first chance he'd gotten, "Gibbs, Tony, Maggie, Abby, something about a duck…"

Everyone but the fourth man was giving him something resembling a smile now. Gibbs shook his hand. "We'll make sure you get some news."

"Thank you." Duncan watched the group walk away a second time.

The man with the sling put his good arm around the fourth man's shoulders as the group walked away. "Cheer up, Maggie May. I'm sure she doesn't wish she'd never seen your face."

* * *

"I said…I did not want to see you."

_I want to see you. _

"Go 'way, Tony."

_I won't. I'm your partner and I won't leave you._

"You never could have."

_I know you wouldn't have done anything if you didn't have a good reason._

"Not what I mean." Her cough was becoming more and more upsetting. "My decisions, my life…"

_I'm part of your life. You made this decision because of me. I won't ever push you away like that again._

"So I could hate you…up close?"

_Please don't hate me._

"No. It is a lot harder…to hate you…where I am now."

_You shouldn't be here. I should have done more. I should have dragged you back where you could be angry but not hurt. Not like this. I'm so sorry._

"Do not apologize. This is…not your fault. You should forget, Tony. Go back to rescuing victims. You do it well. They need you."

_I need my partner._

"It doesn't matter anymore."

_Yes. It does._

Tony popped out his earbuds as he stepped onto the hot tarmac in Tel Aviv. He could still make things up to her. He had to.

The slightly creepy guy who had also met them at the airport on their previous trip was wearing a different vest. He gruffly mumbled, "Welcome back," before leading them to a black SUV. He didn't speak again until they were caught in deadlocked traffic. "I am afraid your arrival is premature. Ziva was immediately taken to surgery after transport and you will not be able to see her for some time."

Gibbs cleared his throat. "We'll wait."

"I am sure."

Tony shifted his broken arm away from McGee, who was stuck in the middle seat. Ducky turned from the front. "Do you have enough legroom? I think I could manage to scoot forward a few more inches if necessary."

"We're fine, Ducky." Tony glanced into his sling, but felt no compulsion to replay his iPod's new most popular track. "Hey, Officer…" he stopped himself from saying 'vest-guy' and left it at simply the title, "I was wondering about this last time but forgot to ask. How come you guys drive Mercedes?"

* * *

Several hours later, in spite of glaring, whining and begging, the staff at the Israeli hospital had been adamant – only one visitor would be allowed into the ICU to see Ziva. McGee sat back down in one of the waiting room chairs with only the briefest complaint. Ducky disappeared to see if an administrator might do him a courtesy and list him as a treating physician. Tony stood eye to eye with Gibbs in the hallway. "I have to see her."

Gibbs didn't back down from what Tony thought was his most intimidating glare. "I'm sure she'd rather see you. Which is why I need to see her."

"That's…" Tony knitted his brow. "That doesn't make sense."

"I left her in Israel. It's my fault she's here."

"Wouldn't have happened in the first place if not for me."

Tony wasn't sure how long the argument lasted, just that he wasn't sure if he'd won or lost when he stood in the doorway of Ziva's room in the ICU. He found the he was walking on tiptoe as he approached her. The chair positioned several feet from her bedside scraped against the tile floor as he pulled it closer. Before seeing the video footage in MTAC, he had dreamed up all kinds of scenarios in which he and Ziva met and resolved things. There were fights, both verbal and physical, challenges, promises, apologies, and reconciliations, both verbal and… He sank into the chair. Seeing her bandaged and IV'd in person was almost as bad as seeing her beaten on the video in…no. No, it wasn't.

"I was planning to hold your hand and tell you everything was gonna be okay." As both of her hands were both heavily wrapped in gauze, he gently grasped her elbow. "This doesn't seem like it would be quite as comforting, but, uh, I'm doing my best."

He waited, but the only response he received was a continuous thumping sound. He took deep breaths to slow his heart rate. "I wanted to be mad at you. Maybe we can still argue later. Now I just…I never wanted this to happen. I wouldn't wish this on someone I hated, much less…you."

He tightened his grip. "Ziva, you…I'm so sorry. Gibbs is gonna try to tell you the same thing, but it's not his fault. This is on me. If you want to wake up and shoot me…please don't make it fatal?"

He fell silent, but never let go. Eventually, her eyes fluttered open. "Tony?"

"Hey." He relaxed his hold on her elbow as she met his gaze. "We're gonna be okay."

She smiled and closed her eyes again.

The End


End file.
